


From a thousand different angles.

by YourFadedGlory (HisNameWasAce)



Series: Near to you. [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Kid Fic, M/M, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-01 02:40:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 16,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HisNameWasAce/pseuds/YourFadedGlory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claude and Danny, though mostly Claude, inadvertently out the worst, best kept secret in the entire league.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It could have been us.

**Author's Note:**

> This particular plot bunny has been rolling around in my head for a while and I finally managed to put enough of it together to publish something. This could quite possibly be the prequel to a much lengthier series following the children of our favorite players and their later adventures at Shattuck in something of a second generation universe, but first and foremost I just want to get this one chapter out there. I hope you enjoy it.

Sid never saw the hit coming.

A shoulder bearing all the weight of well built hockey player connected with his back, square between his shoulder blades. The force of it sent him headfirst into the glass, his body thrown against the boards in an awkward tangle of knees and elbows. His vision grayed around the edges, paralyzing pain shooting down his neck and bleeding into his shoulders. Every nerve in his body felt raw, the ache radiating out from his back to the tips of his toes and the crown of his head. 

He crumpled to the ice, landing hard on his side, his head bouncing off the solid surface with enough force to send his already jostled helmet skittering away, the chill of the ice seeping quickly into his exposed, sweat slicked skin. 

As consciousness slipped from his grip, the last thing Sid saw was the number 28 in that god awful shade of orange, the name Giroux printed above it in big block letters. Then there was nothing.

\---

Danny watched from the bench, feeling his stomach flutter a little anxiously as moment after moment dragged on and the opposing center remained motionless on the ice. Curled on his side, with his helmet knocked off it was easy to understand why Crosby’s line had taken exception to the hit. No one ever wanted to see their teammate laid out like that, hell it was still hard to watch when it was an opponent. 

He could hear the death threats being screamed across the ice, accented by the sound of fists meeting flesh as the Penguins went to work defending their captain’s honor. Letang was pounding in Timonen’s face at center ice. Not far off, Kunitz and McGinn were clutching at each other’s sweaters and spitting insults. A pair of linesmen had stepped between Claude and a murderous looking Brooks Orpik, leaving Paul Martin to chase after an enraged Fluery who had bolted out of his net and was hauling ass down the ice, gloves thrown down, and fists at the ready. 

It was all out chaos, a shit show of massive proportion as the officials tried in vain to break up the warring players. In the middle of it all—massive men, sharpened skate blades, and flying fists—Danny caught sight of a toddler. 

\---

He had to do a double take, gaping at the sobbing child as he slipped and slid along the ice, seemingly unnoticed by everyone else. His tiny hands and tiny feet were trying to propel him down toward Crosby in a futile attempt at crawling over the slick surface, his face blotchy and red from letting loose agonized wails that were drowned out almost entirely by the noise of the arena. 

A paternal sense of panic welled up in Danny’s chest, and he leapt the boards without a second thought. In one smooth motion he collected the little boy in his arms, thrashing little limbs and continued screaming being his only reward. He’d just started to make his way back to the bench when he noticed the hush that had fallen over the arena, broken only by the little man’s cries.

His presence on the ice had apparently demanded attention, and all of the players seemed to notice at once, heads turning and fists stopping midair. While his own teammates looked mildly amused at the sight of him standing in no man’s land with a screaming child in his arms, all the Pens looked vaguely horrified. 

Suddenly the entire Penguins team was on their feet and leaping over the boards. Even Bylsma with the assistant coaches hot on his heels have clamored onto the ice, and all Danny could do was stand there and gape at the mob of black and gold rushing toward him. He was so flabbergasted by the sight of Mario Lemieux sprinting down the home team tunnel that he barely noticed the sea of orange that swept past him to meet the charging Penguins.

\---

A stray punch was thrown here and there but none of the Penguins seemed interested in fighting, most just trying to duck and weave around their opponents in an effort to get to him. The first to break through the orange line of defense was Tomas Vokoun. The goalie threw his weight and his gear around, hip checking Simmonds and shoving away Schenn, in order to reach Danny. He lifted his mask and extended his arms, reaching for the toddler, eyes earnest and pleading. “Give me little one.” Vokoun’s words were thick and heavily accented but the desperation behind them was clear and biting, enough so to make Danny skate back a foot or two, wondering when the hell everybody had lost their minds. 

He wasn’t going to hand the kid over, not when everything around him was a few lost tempers away from exploding into all out Armageddon. “You not understand. Please just give me child.” Vokoun begged, eyes flickering around the arena, balking at all the flashing cameras. Making a noise of frustration the goalie jolted forward and Danny instinctively sidestepped him, dashing out of the mass of players as fast as he dared with the squirming toddler in his arms. 

\---

**"BRIERE!"**

Danny froze, tightening his hold protectively on the kid as he turned toward the voice. Malkin had somehow separated himself from the fray, his tie pulled askew, and eyes flooded with a fatherly panic that made Danny’s stomach sink. If he remembered correctly the Russian center was on IR with a knee injury, it would have explained why he was wearing a suit, but not why he was staring at the toddler in his arms like Danny was holding his entire world. 

The little boy whimpered, making grabby hands in Malkin’s direction, trying in vain to escape Danny’s grip. He glanced from the toddler to Malkin’s utterly devastated face and felt himself pale. The closer he looked, the more he pieced together. 

The kid was dressed in a pair of custom Penguins footie pajamas. He’d been crawling toward Crosby before he’d picked him up and a second ago he’d reached out for Malkin. Every member of the Penguins organization had stormed the ice after spotting him on it, and Vokoun had been desperate to keep him out of view of the cameras…so the kid was either the illegitimate spawn of Mario Lemieux with extremely close ties to two players, or he and Claude had just inadvertently outed the worst, best kept secret in the entire league. 

“Give me my son.” Malkin demanded, limping forward and offering open arms. 

Danny swallowed thickly and handed the toddler over, his cries quieting the moment Malkin clutched him protectively to his chest. 

All around them the fighting had stopped, Penguins and Flyers parting like the red sea to let Malkin limp between them. He met Lemieux at the far side of the ice where Crosby was being loaded onto a stretcher; a slightly older little boy clinging to the injured forward’s hand and slipping the other into Malkin’s when he finally made it over. They left the ice like that, clinging to one another as camera flashes captured the moment from a thousand different angles. 

\---

Danny knew as everyone in the arena did that they would be the headline of every sports channel in the world, the front page of multiple news papers, and the talk of the league. 

“Was that my fault?” Claude asked softly, skating up next to him. 

“The Russians will probably think so, and the Canadians, and the French probably won’t cut us any slack either. But hey that’s only a good three-fourths of the league.” Danny tried to joke, but it fell flat to even his own ears. 

“That could have been us Claude.” He whispered fearfully. “It could have been Philly with you on the stretcher and Crosby holding Cameron, or Carson, or Caelan… It could have been _us_.”


	2. Chicago's on the line, sending their sympathies.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands, the house phone set on the coffee table in front of him. He looked pale, shaken like someone had just rocked him on the ice. It terrified Jonny to see him that way, made his skin crawl with the desperate need to know what was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sid and Geno aren't the only ones with a secret.

Jon was up to his elbows in bath water, gently scrubbing the red paint off of Sophia’s hands and out of Nathanial’s hair. Why Kaner thought it was a good idea to leave the twins alone with finger paint is something he’ll never understand. Just as he finished rinsing the suds out of their hair he heard the phone ring downstairs, and Patrick’s muffled shout for him to pick it up.

“I’m a little busy Kaner!” Jonny shouted back, hoisting the twins out of the tub and wrapping them in fluffy towels, green for Nate and pink for Soph. But the moment he turned his back to get a comb, Sophia toddled out the door sans towel, giggling and shrieking in a way that Jon knew had to have come from Kaner’s genetics. Nathanial, meanwhile was standing patiently, offering Jonny a hand to hold as they went in search of his twin. 

“She is one wild child.” Jon muttered as he scooped up his son, snatching up the pink towel his daughter had left behind. 

“Wild.” Nathanial agreed solemnly, his clear pronunciation, giving Jon the hope that his little man had the makings of a good head on his shoulders. 

Luckily Sophia had yet to master the art of getting over the baby gate, something her older sister Isabel had figured out early on. Snatching up his little girl, Jonny wrapped the towel around her tiny body, and pulled her up onto his hip that wasn’t occupied by Nate, and carried the two of them downstairs to the kitchen. 

\---

Isabel was waiting in the archway, already dressed for bed, her chocolate brown hair only half braided and coming undone little by little. The look of sad confusion in her bright blue eyes made Jonny’s stomach clench with uneasiness. Patrick always took the time to do Isabel’s hair before bed; it was their special bonding time, something for just the two of them. He never skipped it.

“Daddy’s sad.” Isabel said quietly, pulling nervously on the hem of her nightgown. She bit her bottom lip in what Jonny recognized as the clear warning sign that came before tears. 

“Don’t cry princess, I’m sure it’s nothing you did.” Jonny said gently, setting Nathanial down so he could take his eldest daughters hand. Lord knew that once one of them started crying, the others were sure to follow. 

“Why don’t we go talk to him, yeah?” There was a sense of composure in his voice that Jonny didn’t wholly feel. Dozens of speculations racing through his mind as Isabel took his hand, and Nathanial’s, leading the way through the kitchen and into the living room at a pace that her younger brother could comfortably toddle along at. 

\---

Patrick was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands, the house phone set on the coffee table in front of him. He looked pale, shaken like someone had just rocked him on the ice. It terrified Jonny to see him that way, made his skin crawl with the desperate need to know what was wrong. But when Pat finally noticed their presence, he forced a smile, getting up and scooping Isabel and Nathanial into his arms.

“Isn’t past your bedtime?” He teased, though the laughter in his voice didn’t reach his eye, it did make the kids smile, Isabel having all but forgotten about the braid that should have been in her hair. His normally mirth filled baby blues, now hollow with dread, met Jon’s hazel gaze for a split second and that was enough to make him understand. 

Whatever had happened, Pat didn’t want to talk about it in front of the kids. 

\---

Making airplane noises all the way up the stairs, Patrick helped dress the twins for bed, leaving Jonny to handle their bedtime story while the blonde undoubtedly went to amend the hair situation with Isabel. 

\---

It was Nate’s turn to pick the book, so Jonny ended up reading ‘If You Give a Moose a Muffin’ not once but twice. Both of the twins were asleep by the time he finished the second reading. Asleep or not, he was still sure to turn on their nightlight after his kissed both their foreheads, not wanting Sophia to wake in the middle of the night without the comfort of her fluorescent Scooby-Doo. 

Down the hall the light in Isabel’s room was still on. Jon found Patrick tying off the end of braid, and uttering the last few lines of ‘Chrysanthemum’ to their dozing daughter. They both kissed her goodnight, smiling as she mumbled a sleepy ‘I love you.’

Once her door was eased shut the smile fell from Patrick’s face. “There’s something you need to see.” He muttered, taking Jonny’s hand and pulling him into their bedroom, turning on the TV. 

\---

Jonny half expected to see reports of another lockout, or some last minute trade. He was mildly confused when all he saw were what appeared to be highlights from the Penguins game. Glancing at Patrick he opened his mouth to ask what it was he was looking for, but the blonde cut him off before he could.

“Watch.” Patrick said pointedly, forcing Jonny’s attention back to the screen.

He flinched as they replayed a hit on Sid, brutal and just barely legal. But it was what came in the moments after that hit that made Jon understand why Patrick was so upset. 

“Is that…” He trailed off in horror.

“AJ.” Patrick confirmed grimly, pausing on the shot of Danny Briere holding Sid and Geno’s youngest son. “It was Flower on the phone. He said that Austin took them down to the locker room because Evan spilled apple juice all over himself. The kid looked away for a split second and that was all the time AJ needed to wander out.” He muttered, squeezing Jonny’s hand. 

“He got all the way out the tunnel, all the way to the _ice_.” Jonny muttered in disbelief, scrubbing the hand that Patrick wasn’t clutching over his face.

“Everyone was focused on Sid or the fights, it was lucky that Briere saw him when he did.” Patrick replied, though he hardly sounded grateful. “But if Claude hadn’t hit Sid…” The blonde’s jaw clenched and Pat didn’t have to complete the thought for Jonny to know exactly what he was thinking.

“If Claude hadn’t hit Sid, someone would have noticed sooner. Someone would have kept him off the ice.” Jonny growled, knowing full well that the next time they played the Flyers he was going to pay Giroux back in full. So long as the Russians didn’t get to him first. 

“Everything’s going to come out Jonny.” Patrick whispered, his gaze dropping to the silver ring dangling from a chain around the brunette’s neck. “The press is going to sink their teeth in and they’re going to pull apart their every move until they have a believable time line. They’re going to find out about Sid and Geno’s wedding, about you being a groomsman and our little Isabel being the flower girl.” 

He sounded about as vulnerable as Jon felt. All of their secrets were on the line now; every person they’d ever confided in now a liability. He couldn’t even imagine what Geno was going through, actually having been outed, his husband in the hospital, and the faces of his children exposed for the entire world to see. 

\---

“This wasn’t the plan.” Patrick mumbled, pressing his face into Jonny’s neck. “It should have been us.”

Jonny couldn’t disagree. When he, Patrick, Geno, and Sidney had sat down and talked all this through, he and Patrick had agreed to come out first in some cushy press conference that had PR pulling the strings, only answering a handful of soft ball questions asked by vetted reporters. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it wasn’t supposed to rip their lives open for everyone to see and criticize.

Sighing heavily he turned off the TV, unable to look at AJ's tear streaked face and Danny's gobsmacked expression.

“You’re right Pat it should have been us, but I have a feeling that it won't be long before it is...” Jon pulled the blonde against his chest, holding him tight and wondering how long it'd be before the world knew about them too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the wonderful feedback!


	3. These state lines don't mean a thing, not when we're all hopping midnight flights to Pittsburgh.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone and their brother is on the first flight to Pittsburgh that they can book.

After Cruise was born, Colby laid some ground rules with the team.

The most prominent of those rules was that his house phone was officially offline past eight o’clock. Those that dared to drunk dial him at two in the morning and shatter the painstakingly scheduled sleep pattern of his household were subjected to a fate worse than death—read, a severe chewing out by his wife that could make even the toughest among them whimper in shame.

After the first few incidents a majority of the guys seemed to have developed a better sense of self preservation, or just more sense period. He and Mel had managed a record breaking three and a half months without their landline startling their son awake, or dragging them back from the comforting depths of sleep that never seemed abundant enough now that they had a hyperactive four year old practically nipping at their heels.

So it only stood to reason that the easy sleep they’d so luxuriously enjoyed would eventually come to end. Colby just wouldn’t have guessed how…

\---

The ringtone for the house phone was absurdly obnoxious, something Mel had done accidently and neither of them knew how to fix. It was even more obnoxious though when it rang at three in the morning and yanked him from his sleep. Groaning miserably, Colby tried to ignore the shrill ringing, folding his pillow around his head to little avail. 

“Colby Joseph Armstrong, I swear to god…” He felt Mel’s elbow spear him in what was an obvious warning to answer the phone or risk waking up to an empty coffee pot. Considering it was more than likely one of his teammates on the line, he supposed it was only fair that he be the one to leave the comfort of their bed.

Mumbling obscenities under his breath, Colby rolled out of bed and stumbled his way through the dark toward the angrily glowing phone on top of the dresser. He squinted at the area code, a whole new level of anger blossoming in his chest. There was only one guy with a Columbus area code that would have his number.

\---

“You better have a damn good reason to be calling me at this hour Johnson.” Colby growled in lieu of a greeting.

“It’s actually kind of the exact opposite.” Jack’s voice crackled over the line, breathy and kind of frantic, but undoubtedly sober. “I would have called sooner but I didn’t find out myself until a few minutes ago. The game went into overtime and it was so late, I didn’t look at my phone until…”

“Jack!” Colby snapped, halting the other’s rambling. “What the fuck is so bad that it couldn’t wait till a decent hour of the morning?” He demanded, not sure that he actually wanted to know. 

Jack inhaled sharply across the line, and Colby could clearly picture him pinching the bridge of his nose in preparation for what he was going to say next. “Sidney’s in the hospital. Giroux slammed him late in the third and little man went stumbling out onto the ice, outing them on live television.” The raw ache in the others words made Colby’s stomach sink with dread, wishing he would have watched the Pens game that night like he had planned to. 

\---

He didn’t even have to ask who ‘them’ was. Three summers ago he’d stood in-between Jack Johnson and Jonathan Toews, in a matching black suit while Sid and Geno promised each other forever. He’d even sent the pair customized Habs sweaters for both the boys in retaliation for the customized Pens sweater they’d sent when Cruise was born. It was a secret he and so many others had been entrusted to keep, and for three years they’d all done such a marvelous job of keeping their mouths shut and their profiles low. Only to be screwed over by Claude _fucking_ Giroux.

\---

Swallowing around the lump that had welled up in his throat, Colby pressed the phone closer to his ear. “Is Sid…is he alright?” Every hit he took had the potential to end everything. If it was his head, if it was another concussion that came anywhere close to the one Sid had last had, there was no way he’d come back from it.

“I don’t know, I don’t think anyone does.” Fearful uncertainty dripped from Jack’s words and Colby felt an overwhelming urge to console him, to comfort him. Except he couldn’t do anything of the sort, not without lying to him. 

\---

“Pack a bag tenderfoot, we’re going to go find out for ourselves.” Colby had a couple of days off, and knew that Jack did too as they’re next game was against each other. It was plenty of time to get down to Pittsburgh and back, just to check in with their respective godsons and their dads. 

He stayed on the phone with Jack while he booked his ticket so they could exchange flight itineraries, both of them swearing up and down that they wouldn’t show up at the hospital with ridiculous amounts of toys and flowers.

“I’ll see you in Pittsburgh.” Colby mumbled through a stifled yawn, pretending for Jack’s sake that he didn’t hear the murmured ‘thank you’ on the other end of the line before it went dead. The kid, was understandably rattled, and Colby’s only regret was that he didn’t live closer to Columbus. 

\---

Tiptoeing back into his room he quietly tossed a couple pairs jeans and sweaters into a duffle bag, flinching when Mel sat up in bed. 

“Colby Joseph Armstrong, you better bring the best flower arrangement.” She warned, getting up and giving him a gentle hug and chaste kiss. It was only then that Colby noticed the spare phone lying next to her pillow, his wife having apparently listened in on the full conversation. 

“I will.” Colby promised, squeezing her tight. He shouldered his duffle and detoured into Cruise’s room to say a quick goodbye. The sight of his sleep mussed blonde locks and thumb firmly inserted between his lips made his heart ache in sympathy. He couldn’t imagine the terror of paparazzi hounding his baby boy, of his picture being plastered across several major news outlets. Hell, the thought of it being his godson was enough to make his blood boil. 

“Take care of your mama.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to his little forehead, and murmuring a quiet ‘I love you’ in his ear.

\---

The flight was uneventful, just a bunch of people who should have been asleep at five in the morning and were bitter about the fact that they weren’t. The only upside was that Colby had managed to find a gift shop at Trudeau and convince the elderly lady who was running it to open early just for him. Sunflowers, soft baked cookies, and action figures from some cartoon Cruise liked now filling his once empty carryon bag. 

Baggage claim was empty save for the occasional bleary eyed business man, so Colby settled without trouble into one of the cramped plastic chairs, flowers and cookies kept safely in hand. 

“You’re rotten liar.” He looked up, startled by the sudden accusation. A ragged looking Jack Johnson, with stuffed puppy dogs and brownies piled in his arms, standing in front of him offering a small half smile that looked like it took entirely too much effort.

“If I’m a liar what does that make you, huh?” Colby arched an accusatory eyebrow, getting to his feet and relieving Jack of the backpack that looked to be weighing a ton on his shoulder. The blonde opened his mouth, a witty retort on the tip of his tongue, but a heavily accented voice cut him off before he had the chance to voice it.

\---

“Is pointless argument da? We all know Russian bring best gifts.” 

Colby reluctantly turned around and was faced with the unmistakable, toothless grin of Alexander Ovechkin, in his hands were two large bottles of vodka that Colby desperately hoped were meant for Geno and not the kids. And trailing a little behind him was Sergei Gonchar, his head sticking out from between the two gigantic stuffed penguins he was carrying. 

\---

“I’m going to need a bigger rental car.” 

Colby glanced over his shoulder, turning toward the vaguely familiar voice. An exhausted looking Max Talbot –who seemed to be playing chaperone to a sleep rumpled Jordan Staal, a bleary eyed Matt Cooke, and a grouchy looking Tyler Kennedy— was making his way up toward the quickly growing huddle of hockey player.

It didn’t surprise Colby that ex-Penguins were scrambling back to Pittsburgh. Sidney had that affect on people, something about his honking laugh and painful awkwardness that just drew them in, made them want to protect him—even after they stopped sharing a locker room and their sweaters bore the names of different clubs. Granted it didn’t explain why Ovenchicken was there, but he knew by then that little about the toothless Russian could actually be explained.

\---

“Someone can ride in the trunk.” Colby suggested, only half joking. 

The others glanced around, and came to a silent agreement.

\---

Alex sat in the back of the rented SUV, crammed between suitcases and excessively large stuffed animals. Over the top of the luggage came a symphony of varied snores, from Cooke’s dying chainsaw, to Johnson’s gentle snuffling, a testament to the comforts not afforded to him—the greatest gift bearer of them all.

“Is not fair Vanya, I bring best vodka, I deserve best seat.”

Alex pouted at the puppy dog plushie, having named most of his fluffy companions over the course of the drive. However ‘Vanya’ didn’t seem any more sympathetic to his cause than the others had been. Shaking his head, Alex patted the dog’s head wistfully. “You disappoint me Vanya, I thought we would get along.” Chucking the plush toy over the backseat, he could only chuckle to himself as Talbot swerved in surprise, jolting all of his comfortably seated passengers awake.

He turned to the stuffed penguin on his left and grinned crookedly.

“Serves them right, don’t you agree Kolya?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ovie creeps me out, so naturally I made him kinda creepy...sorry Ovie lovers. 
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos, they make me feel loved :3
> 
> I'm going to start up a drabble series about the various families and their kids so if you have any requests, I'd be glad to take a few.


	4. How done, is done?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sidney is not OK.
> 
> No one really is.

Jordan has seen Geno cry, on multiple occasions, but never like this.

He was standing in a private waiting room, pressed between a vending machine and a dusty, plastic ficus-- as if the support of the flimsy plastic leaves and humming machinery was all that was keeping him upright. His hands shook as they worried the sleeves of his sweatshirt, the fabric stretched and fraying from the constant abuse.

All traces of his strength had evaporated, the weight of his terror reducing him to nothing more than a quivering mass of muscle. It wasn’t the concern of a teammate or the anxiousness of a friend, but the agonizing torment of being a man with a ring around his finger, a man whose heart was no longer resided with himself but with his husband, who he could not see or touch or comfort.

Taking a step forward, Jordan moved to coax Geno from his hiding space, but Gonch was faster, dumping his stuffed toys and treats on Alex before taking three loping strides and forcibly yanking the taller man into his arms.

\---

Whatever composure Geno had been clinging to shattered, an anguished sob breaking past his lips as he collapsed into Sergei, babbling in broken,watery Russian. 

The sight sent a tremor of rage through Jordan, his blood running hot with a thirst for retribution. No one had the right to do this, to take a teammate, a friend and blow them into pieces. It didn’t matter that he played for the Canes, his heart bled black and gold, no matter the color of his sweater.

Alex slid past him, manhandling Sergei and Geno into a separate room, presumably for some sort of Russian group therapy--one that Jordan was positive would involve the vodka and brownies that Ovechkin had been carrying earlier.

Huffing out a frustrated sigh, he felt more than saw Kennedy sidle up to him, a firm hand steadying his shaking fists.

“You’ll get your chance, we all will.” Tyler muttered, his eyes dark with the same protective ire that Jordan felt humming through every nerve in his body. 

He knew in the pit of his stomach that there was only so much blame that could be placed on Giroux, that their hatred was rooted in bias and bad blood. But there was little room for reason or morality when he was standing in a Pittsburgh hospital, jetlagged and surrounded by men who shared his murderous intent.

“I don’t think there’ll be much left for us after tonight. From what Fluery told me, Chicago’s on a warpath, with Toews and Kane leading the charge.” Jordan grumbled, shrugging in response to Tyler’s inquisitively arched eyebrow. “Apparently they took some pretty hardcore exception to seeing their kids’ nap buddies tear streaked and traumatized on the front page of the Tribune. Hit a little too close to home, you know?”

Tyler hummed a quiet acknowledgement, visibly disappointed that he wouldn’t be getting in the first shot at Grioux’s mug.

\---

“It’s on the Tribune, huh?” He asked, looking around for a newspaper dispenser. His phone chimed endlessly with alerts, but he’d yet to see anything in print.

“It’s on everything.” Colby broke in, pulling a stack of newspapers from his bag. He walked over to one of the rows of plastic chairs, folding himself into one and tossing the four inch stack of print onto the table in front of him.

Trusting Geno was in safe hands, they crowded around, settling into chairs of their own and spreading out the various articles. Each one had a glaring, block print headline with a blown up picture that made their stomachs turn.

After a good thirty minutes they gave up on trying to read them, appalled at the hostility that radiated from the paragraphs, sickened by the rumors and assumptions. Wordlessly they switched to well worn health magazines and mind numbing apps, getting coffee in shifts and sleeping on each other’s shoulders. 

It wasn’t long before the team started trickling in, chairs filling slowly but steadily, quiet greetings and hugs exchanged with old friends as they shuffled in.

\---

Pascal was one of the last to arrive, wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, AJ in his arms and Evan clutching at his hand. “There are paparazzi everywhere.” He muttered, handing the boys off to their respective godfathers, AJ to Colby and Evan to Jack. 

“They’re camped outside the rink, outside our homes--Nealer can’t even get out of his place until the police come in to clear them out.” The normally composed family man was seething with a quiet rage, shaking his head in obvious disgust, though he seemed to regret the action as he pressed a tender hand to the side of his face.

“They hurt Uncle Duper.” AJ piped up, his little head tucked into the crook of Colby’s neck, his small fists knotted in the fabric of his t-shirt like he was terrified Colby would vanish if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

\---

Several different heads swiveled in Pascal’s direction, Brooksie and Craig getting to their feet and advancing toward the winger with obvious concern.

“It’s nothing, someone just clipped me with their camera.” Duper huffed, removing his sunglasses and hat to reveal a blossoming bruise that spread from the tip of his right eyebrow and down to the top of his cheekbone. 

\---

“More like they sucker punched you.” Cookie objected, an outraged chatter swelling in the room, only to die suddenly when the double doors snapped open revealing a petite nurse.

Everyone’s jaws snapped shut, silence falling heavy and expectant.

“I need immediate family members.” She called, chin tilted up in an effort to look like she wasn’t completely intimidated by having to address a room full of agitated hockey players.

Geno, puffy eyed and still sniffling the tiniest bit, squared his shoulders and stepped out of the safety of the impromptu Russian fortress Sergei and Alex had established, his eyes sliding over Colby and Jack as he offered his boys a small smile of reassurance. 

Mario rose to join him, the nurse ushering them past the double doors and leaving the others to wait.

\---

One minute ticked by and then ten, each agonizing one spent in a silence that no one seemed to want to break.

At fourteen minutes Geno walked back in, his red rimmed eyes sweeping over the amassment of friends and teammates that were crammed into plastic chairs and standing alongside walls. 

“Sidney out for season…” There was a pregnant pause, as he clearly struggled to find his next words, which rolled roughly off his tongue.

“Might be done.” He whispered, almost too low for the others to hear as he made his way over to Colby and Jack, taking the boys, one on each arm and leaving in search of Sid's room.

No one spoke, staring at the double doors as they swayed shut behind them, wondering how done was _done_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. 
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> I don't know.


	5. I've got all this ringing in my ears and none on my fingers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sid's having a rough day.

“Careful Ev, don’t pull too fast.” 

Sidney skated lazy circles around his sons, smiling to himself as he watched Evan tow his little brother across their backyard rink. It had taken him and his dad a good couple of weeks to make, but it was one of the best that Sid had ever seen, and the boys seemed to be more than content with it.

\---

Nothing made him and Geno happier than getting to watch the boys on the ice. AJ was still a little wobbly and prefered to just be tugged along on his skates, and while Evan was the steadier of the two he was perfectly content to take his little brother's hand and lead him around in circles--a welcome relief considering he hadn’t been very keen on the idea of having a little brother when he and Geno had first broken the news.

It probably helped that AJ had been a docile a baby, an easy sleeper and willing to giggle at just about anything Evan did. The easy admiration fluffed up Ev’s ego and he thrived under AJ’s constant attention, perfectly content to show him the ropes of building blocks and ice skating.

\---

“Dad look!”

Sidney glance up, and watched Evan give AJ a starting shove, his younger son wobbling his way over with all the determination a three year old could muster. 

Opening his arms, Sid closed the last couple feet between them, scooping AJ up with a beaming smile. “Hey bud that was awesome!” He crooned, rubbing his nose affectionately against his youngest son’s as he carried him back down the ice. 

Evan was standing at the end, chest puffed up and grinning like Mario did whenever Sid managed to pull off something particularly spectacular. 

“We’ll just start calling you Coach.” Sidney grinned, collecting Evan with his free arm. He took off down the ice, pushing as fast as he dared to hear their shrieks of delight. It killed him inside to think that someday they’d be too old for stuff like this, that they wouldn’t always fit in his arms. 

\---

“Sid.” 

The lightly chiding call brought Sid to a stop, setting the boys down carefully as they moaned unison protests. 

“Uh, oh boys Papa doesn’t look too happy.” Sidney widened his eyes for comical effect, tucking them both behind his legs to try and hide them from Geno, their not so subtle giggles and scrambling skates giving them away. 

“Куда мои сыновья?” (1) Genos asked, giving Sidney a knowing smile.

The giggling behind Sidney only grew louder and he rolled his eyes playfully at Geno in response. 

“Здесь, папа!” (2) Evan called, popping out from behind Sidney’s legs and skating over to the makeshift boards, AJ echoing him as he wobbled forward. Their Russian was as flawless as their English and Sid didn’t miss the proud gleam in Geno’s eyes when he heard it. 

“Dada, has big butt to hide behind yes?” Geno teased, eliciting another round of laughter as Sidney made his way to the boards, his sons nodding in agreement about the size of his ass. 

“Is that so?” Sidney drawled, grabbing the boys around the middle and tackling them gently through the door and into the fluff of the snow bank that had built up outside the rink. They giggled and shrieked, shoving at him to get loose. 

Geno, uncaring of how the snow would soak through his jeans and sweater, flopped down with them. “Is ok, I like big butt.” He replied with a warm smile, tilting Sid’s face up to meet his in a chaste kiss, a chorus of ‘ewws’ and gagging sounds rising from their two person peanut gallery. 

Sidney smiled into the kiss, winking at the boys as they peaked from between their fingers. 

Geno helped him up and they each helped one of the boys get their skates off, trudging through the half foot of snow that blanketed the yard and up to the deck where Sidney could smell the pelmeni soup and apple cider that was keeping warm in the kitchen.

Sending the boys inside with clear instructions to put something warm and dry on, Sid set to work lining up the skates on the rubber mat on the deck, a pair of strong arms wrapping around him from behind and pulling him upright. 

\---

Geno’s warmth was comforting, and solid in a way that few things were. His dark hair was dusted with snowflakes, eyes bright and loving in a way that still took Sid’s breath away.

Leaning back into him, Sid pressed a light kiss to his jaw, smiling brightly at his husband. 

Geno turned him around for a proper kiss, slow and sensual in a way they only allowed themselves when the boys weren’t looking. 

“Love you.” Geno whispered, leaning down to press his forehead against Sidney’s.

“любите Вас больше.” (3) Sidney replied, smirking at the muffled noise of longing that broke past Geno’s lips. 

\---

“Dad...” 

Sidney stepped away from Geno, turning toward the house and whichever of his sons had called him.

“Dad!” The voice grew more insistent and Sid recognized it as Evan’s, unease knotting in his stomach.

“Geno the boys…” He muttered, glancing back toward his husband to find the space beside him vacant and cold.

“DAD!” Desperation and panic bled through his eldest’s tone and Sidney lunged for the handles of the the french doors, terror rising in his chest as he yanked at them with all the strength he could manage. 

“DADDY!”

The word cut through Sidney like a white hot blade, as he slammed a fist against the glass, watching it crack and splinter but refuse to give way.

“Evan...Evan I’m coming, I’m coming!” He shouted back, the porch light flickering out and leaving him in complete and utter darkness as he pounded in vain against the door.

“Geno help me... _ **Geno**_!” 

\---

Sidney’s eyes shot open, blinded by the sudden amount of light that assaulted them.

He tried to scramble upright, fighting the pressure on his chest that was trying to hold him down. 

He had to find Geno, he had to get to the boys.

\---

“Sid…”

“Sidney stop.” 

A firm voice pierced through the panicked fog in his brain and Sidney stopped struggling, his vision fading into focus. Familiar brown eyes held his gaze, the pressure on his chest lifting as the hand that was holding him down was removed. 

“Geno.” Sidney breathed, reaching out to cup his husbands jaw, an IV firmly embedded in his hand. 

Relief flooded Geno’s eyes as he leaned into Sidney’s touch. “бог спасибо.” (4) He whispered, pressing a kiss to the golden cross hanging around his neck, lips moving in a silent prayer. 

“Geno the boys… Evan was screaming.” Sidney blurted, trying to get up again, only for his shoulder to protest violently.

“Just a dream Sid, good painkillers.” Geno reasoned, gently easing Sidney back against his pillows. 

“No Geno, it was too real, I _remember_ it.” Sidney insisted, as he looked around wildly for his sons, wondering briefly why he couldn’t move his neck. “We were skating on the backyard rink and you were making fun of my butt and then we were on the porch and Evan started screaming.” He rambled desperately, clutching at Geno's hand like he were afraid the other man would disappear again.

Recognition flitted across the other’s eyes and Geno offered a small reassuring smile. 

“Is memory Sid.” He shook his head fondly and ran an affectionate hand through Sid’s hair. 

“AJ tripped on stairs, remember? Got nose bloody, stain not come out of carpet for weeks.”

Sidney felt the panic slowly start to ebb away, the memory Geno was explaining coming back with ease and clarity. 

“The boys are safe?” He asked, needing absolute assurance. 

“If safe you mean with Army and Jack, then da.” 

Sid’s brow furrowed in confusion at the mention of the boys’ godfathers. 

“Why are Army and Jack in Pittsburgh?” 

Geno shifted uncomfortably, and before he could answer there were a few solid knocks to the door as it creaked open, revealing said godfathers and their godsons, each carrying a bowl of jello. 

\---

“Dad!” Evan shoved his bowl of jello into Jack’s hands, taking a running leap at the bed.

Sidney winced and braced for impact, good arm outstretched. 

But Geno managed to pluck their son out of the air and settle him gently on the bedside, close enough for Sidney to reach him, but far enough that he wasn’t causing him any unnecessary discomfort. 

“Dad…” Evan snuggled up into Sidney’s chest, not even complaining when Sid ran fingers tenderly through his dark curls. 

AJ wasn’t far behind him in wanting a snuggle, clamoring into Geno’s lap and waiting patiently until his papa tucked in beside his brother.

“Tell him ‘bout Tazer.” AJ mumbled, words jumbled as he tried to suck his thumb and speak at the same time. 

Evan’s eyes lit up and he scrambled off Sidney to find the remote, Jack and Colby helping him get to the right channel.

“Dad you’ve got to see this, Uncle Tazer kicked butt!” Evan explained, as Geno carefully extracted him from Sid’s bed and settled him in his lap.

\---

Sidney cocked a curious eyebrow in Colby and Jack’s direction, both of them shrugging noncommittally as they flipped channels until they found one that was showing a highlight reel from the Blackhawks and Flyers game.

It didn’t look like a hockey game, it looked like a riot on ice. 

Sidney couldn’t even begin to imagine what had provoked Jon to go that apeshit, at least not until the segment shifted, pictures of his boys flashing across the screen. The reporter went on to ramble about whiplash, his torn rotator cuff, and broken knee, but the only thing Sid could process was the image of Danny Briere holding his sobbing son at center ice.

He felt the color drain from his face and he clutched AJ tighter to his side, turning toward Geno as best he could with the neck brace.

“I’m sorry Sidney, was accident.” Geno whispered, eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.

Sid shook his head minutely, eyes widening in horror as he carefully ran his hand beneath the neck brace.

“It’s gone.” Sidney croaked, tears welling in his eyes. 

“My ring, Geno it’s gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Where are my sons?  
> (2) Here, Papa!  
> (3)Love you more.  
> (4)Thank God.
> 
> Title courtesy of the fabulous Fall Out Boy
> 
> Yay, family fluff...sorta xD


	6. Armageddon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jonny's lookin to break some bones.

“Did I really hit him that hard?”

Danny paused, his turkey sandwich halfway between his mouth and his plate when Claude broke their easy silence. He lowered the sandwich back onto his plate, eyeing the winger worriedly.

“Claude…” He started, only to be cut off by the other’s mumbled words.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt him Danny. I mean, yeah I don’t really like him but I wasn’t trying to ruin his life or anything.”

His tone was so gut wrenchingly earnest that it made Danny’s heartache. He knew the type of man that Claude was, knew that even though he did harbor some hatred for Crosby, he’d never meant for any of that shitshow to happen. 

“It was a clean hit Claude...it’s just one of the risks of playing the game, that’s all.” 

Reaching out, Danny took his hand, tangling their fingers together.

Though he didn’t look all that convinced Claude let the subject drop, keeping a firm hold of Danny’s hand as they finished their pre-game snack in silence. 

\---

Philly’s visitor’s locker room was cramped, the air inside heavy with tension. It wasn’t the usual pre-game buzz, the one brought on by a burst of adrenalin fueled energy. It was something far more dangerous, volatile in a way that made Q shake his head in exasperation because he knew he was powerless to stop it.

It was anger, a rage pure and unbridled.

Jonny could feel it festering hot and impatient in his chest, could see it in the way Shawzy’s fingers were twitching and Pat was damn near devouring his mouthguard. 

They hadn't come to Philly to play, they'd come to send a message.

“Keep it clean, keep it fast, and keep it physical. When those gloves drop, Giroux is _mine._ ”

The guys nodded their understanding and Jonny felt Pat give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then it was out the tunnel and onto the ice.

\---

With the third period half over, Jonny knew something had to give.. 

Pat had racked up a hat trick, Sharpy and Seabs were both on the board, and he’d gotten two goals himself.

Crow had been a brick wall all night, the 7-0 score proving influential on both benches. 

Where the Flyers had grown frustrated and sloppy, the Hawk’s were humming with palpable energy and a single minded focus that translated into fast paced, physical play.

Irritation was coming off the Flyers in waves, their gritted teeth and narrowed eyes giving away their fraying nerves. It was only a matter of time before Jonny heard those magic words.

\---

“You wanna go Toews?!” 

Jonny’s head snapped up at the snarl, faceoff forgotten. He took one look at Giroux and flung his gloves off. 

“It’s all I’ve wanted all night long you son of a bitch.” Jonny snapped back, closing the distance between them in one stride, arm pulled back and cocked to deliver the first hit. He sent Claude spinning, having landed a solid right hook before the other even had a chance to process the situation.

Chaos erupted behind him as the Flyers surged forward, trying to pry them apart. But Patrick was quicker on the uptake, racing forward with Bolly and Shawzy to fend off anyone looking to interfere. Soon enough Emery and Crow were ambling out of their creases and going toe to toe, the benches screaming insults at each other.

Jonny meanwhile, just kept swinging, aiming for any part of Giroux he could reach. 

At some point their helmets were knocked away and Jonny could taste blood as it spilled from his split lip. Panting for air, he fisted the orange of Claude’s jersey, cocking his fist back just one more time. “This one’s for Sid.” He barked, letting one fly, and relishing the crunch of bone beneath his fist.

“Fucker!” Claude swore, hands reaching instinctively toward his nose as blood gushed hot and red from both nostrils. 

Jonny backed off, skating with the linesmen to the box where Bolly, Shawzy, and Pat were waiting for him. They wore the blood stains like gold medals for the rest of the night. And with the last two seconds on the clock, Jonny lined up a slapshot and earned himself a Gordie Howe, arms thrown up victoriously as the buzzer rang through a near silent arena.  
\---

_“You seemed really eager about dropping the gloves tonight, wanna explain that?_

Jonny had to make a conscious effort to not roll his eyes at the pudgy reporter, the bottom of his iphone shoved in his face.

“I’m not normally the first guy to take a swing, but I fight when I have something to fight for, it’s as simple as that.” He deadpanned, turning toward the next question.

_“It looked like you singled out Giroux out there, was it retaliation for the situation in Pittsburgh? Were you fighting for Sidney?”_

The woman had beady black eyes and a hooked nose that reminds Jonny of one of his old teachers from Shattuck. He couldn't help the furrowing of his brows and deep set frown that took over his face. “Sidney’s a good friend, and that ‘situation’ you’re referring to is his life. I wouldn’t exactly call it retaliation since Grioux was the one who asked me to go, but yeah a few of those hits were for Sid and Geno.” 

His words sounded furiously protective to even his own ears and that opened up the floodgates. 

Very few guys in the league had openly commented about the so called ‘situation’ in Pittsburgh. Sure private phone trees had exploded with speculation and discussion about it, but hardly anyone was willing to give a statement to the press about it. 

The majority of the league seemed to be spitting out generic messages of support and well wishes, unsure of how much attention they wanted to bring to the already volatile situation. Word was already getting around about an assembly of ex-penguins and close friends converging on Pittsburgh from around the country and Canada, and it was only a matter of time before the press found out about it too. The patchwork lid of PR approved statements and mumbled ‘no comments’ wasn’t going to hold for much longer.

_Did you know about Crosby and Malkin?_

Jonny’s silence must have been answer enough because the reporters nearly jumped forward with variations of the same question, pressing closer as they tried to sidestep each other, vying for the soundbite that wouldn’t come.

“That’s enough.”

PR swept in and herded Jonny back into the safety of the visitor’s locker room, and all of them giving him sharp looks of exasperated irritation.

This must be what Patrick feels like, Jonny thought in passing, grabbing his bag and heading out for the bus.

He was maybe ten feet from the door when someone in a painfully orange jersey stepped from an alcove and blocked his path.

\---

Claude had gauze shoved up his nostrils, his nose snapped back into place, but still gushing a fair amount of blood.

“You _knew_...you knew about Crosby and Malkin.”

The words fell from his tongue like an accusation and Jonny’s fist tightened visibly around the strap of his duffle.

“There’s more to it than you could ever imagine. You've unleashed armageddon Giroux.” He replied, shouldering past Claude and leaving the winger to stand there mouth agape.

\---

As the door was flung open, a wintery blast swept through the hallway, Claude’s fingers closed tightly around the platinum wedding band that was tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. He’d intended to give it to Toews, to give back to Crosby, but now it didn’t feel right to let it go. It felt like something he’d have to do in person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jonny is a bit OC I guess.
> 
> But someone needed to be the badass, punch happy defender of Sid and Geno, so there you go. Canadian brotherhood and all that jazz.
> 
> Thank you again for all the kudos and the wonderful comments! :D


	7. I believe in equality for everyone, except reporters and photographers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fact that their oldest son was throwing snack foods at the reporter his two grandfather figures had just punched probably wasn’t the story that PR had been hoping to gain out of the press conference, but it sure as hell was the one they were going to end up with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title courtesy of Mahatma Gandhi.

Sidney feels like he’s twelve years old again.

There’s at least two dozen people milling about the hotel ballroom, and they’re all talking about him, but no one is actually talking _to_ him.

His mother was huddled closely to Nathalie, while his father and Mario seemed to be a few choice words away from trying to punch each other’s lights out. Dan was standing as something as a referee between them, one hand on Mario’s shoulder and another on Troy’s, keeping enough distance between them that they couldn’t land a hit.

Cookie and Engo seemed to be having an equally spirited debate with Brooks and Duper, one that included a startling amount of finger jabbing and handwaving. Jordie was crowded in with Flower and Colby, trying to avoid Flower’s flailing arms as he gestured repeatedly toward the double doors that led into the conference room.

Even Taylor had ditched him, standing in the middle of Ovechkin and Jack, clearly bombarding the smug looking Russian in rapid fire English with Evan in her arms.

The only person that really seemed to be paying him any attention was the three year old that was sitting quiet, and doe eyed on his good knee and tugging at the fabric of his shirt.

\---

“Daddy?” 

Sidney looked down, smoothing a hand through his son’s light brown curls. 

“Did I make Papa sad?”

The frown that pulled at his youngest’s lips nearly broke Sid’s heart in two. He followed AJ’s gaze to a far corner where Geno was slumped tiredly against the wall, Brisson standing in front of him making slow hand gestures and speaking in even slower English. 

To think that his son, his baby boy, even for a second thought that the terrified exhaustion in Geno’s eyes was because of him made Sidney’s blood boil.

“Aiden James.” Sidney said sternly, his son’s eyes widening almost comically at the use of his full name. 

“Having you and your brother is the greatest thing that has ever happened to me and your Papa. There isn’t anything in the world that we love more than you two.” He said firmly, a small smile pulling at his lips when AJ nodded slowly in understanding. He lifted a tiny hand a pressed it against Sidney’s cheek, face pinched with a sense of seriousness that Sidney could only remember seeing in his own baby photos.

“Love _you_ daddy.” 

And if Sidney had to bat away a stray tear or two, no one but his baby boy had to know.

\---

Brisson interrupted their rousing game of peekaboo, clearing his throat and tilting his head pointedly toward the doors. Taylor gathered up AJ, in her arms, holding tight to Evan’s hand. She offered a thin smile as Geno took his hands and the doors swung open to dozens of camera flashes. 

There was one long table set up on the impromptu stage, with four empty chairs waiting to be filled.

\---

Sid and Geno sat in the middle two, Brisson and Mario taking a seat at either end. Reporters were packed to the walls, tape recorders and iphones extended, cameras poised and ready. All Sidney could think about was the neon green sling that was supporting his left arm, how it clashed disastrously with the dark blue of his suit. 

Why hadn’t anyone told him? 

Why hadn’t PR swooped in with a black one or something that looked even slightly more professional?

Geno must have noticed his fretting, because he squeezed Sid’s hand under the table. 

“Is good color, sons like.” Geno breathed, coaxing a small smile from Sidney, pointing out the roughly drawn picture of a family of four penguins and the scribbled initials of their children underneath it. Apparently it didn’t have to be a cast to be doodled on, slings worked just as well.

Mario cleared his throat in disturbing unison with Brisson, drawing both of their attention to the squirming mass of reporters settled in front of them. 

Sidney smiled sheepishly, turning to face the first of what was sure to be a plethora of questions.

\---

_“Sidney do you identify as gay?”_

Sidney stared at the blood red blazer of the reporter, a notepad clutched in her hands, pen poised like something out of a bad sixties movie. 

“Yes.” The reply was terse, and Sid didn’t miss the disappointment that flashed across the woman’s face. Not that he really understood it, what was she expecting, for him to say no? He was married to a man, for god’s sake.

_“Was the team aware of your sexuality prior to the incident in Philadelphia?”_

Before he could answer, Mario was leaning forward in his chair, a dangerously protective gleam in his eyes . “The Penguins organization, including the team, management, and coaching staff knew well before the incident in Philadelphia. We have and will continue to support Sidney and Evgeni unconditionally.” He stated firmly, confident in a way that Sidney had always envied.

_“Have either of you received any mistreatment in the locker room since coming out to the team?”_

Some stocky, beady eyed man in a suit had his iphone thrust in front of him, and Sidney was more than sure that he wanted the answer to be yes. He felt Geno bristle beside him, rubbed the wrong way by the reporter’s sick sense of eagerness. 

“None.” Sidney voiced, stronger and with more conviction.

“Team is family. Protect and support, make good babysitters.” Geno added coaxing a stiff chuckle out of the crowd.

_“How long have you two been together?”_

The reporter was on the younger side, and she offered Sid a soft smile when he looked her way. Her tone wasn’t prying or tinged in accusation, and the gentleness of it was a breath of fresh air that Sidney had been in desperate need of.

“We’ve been married for three years, it’ll be four this summer.” Sid replied, actually mustering up a smile.

She offered a sincere congratulations and it was then and there that Sid made the decision, she was going to be the first to get a one on one interview with them, and he told Brisson as much after they managed to make their way out of the media scrum with at least a majority of their sanity. 

\---

“I’ll make sure to extend the offer.” Brisson promised, dabbing at his brow like he’d just played a period against the Hawks. But considering he’d had to bodily restrain Geno from throwing his shoes at the same beady eyed reporter that had asked about mistreatment in the locker room and then proceeded to ask far too many personal questions about the boys, the man deserved some credit.

He gave Sid’s uninjured shoulder an affectionate pat, looking meaningfully at Geno when he said, “Get some rest kid, and get your hubby to do the same.” To which Geno huffed a humored agreement.

\---

Back in the ballroom a large majority of people were giving personal statements, in what Sid was sure to be an unprecedented outpouring of support from everyone present. It took him a few moments to find a very livid looking Taylor, Evan holding her hand and kicking at the shin of the reporter in front of him and AJ crying on her hip. 

Sid felt heart stutter in his chest once he recognized the beady eyed reporter who was crowding her, his fucking meaty hand pinching the the tear streaked cheek of his youngest son.

“Geno.” Sidney breathed, he heard his husband’s breathing hitch as he lurched forward, fists balled. But it seemed that Mario and Troy had heard Taylor’s protests and managed to get their first.

“Don’t touch _my_ grandson!” 

The two perfectly unison shouts resonated around the room, accented by the sound of fists meeting flesh and a butt meeting the floor. 

\---

Camera’s burst to life as everyone in the room tried to snap a picture of Mario Lemieux and Troy Crosby towering above the jackass reporter. The two men glanced at each other, and exchanged a nod of acknowledgement, the civilist Sidney had seen them since the whole ordeal had began. 

“You made AJ cry!” Evan shouted, obviously upset. Sidney watched with a sick mixture of pride and dread as his five year old slipped Taylor’s grip, shoved between the legs of his grandpas, and started throwing his goldfish crackers at the dazed reporter. 

“Do something.” Sid hissed, elbowing Geno in the ribs and trying his damndest not to laugh. 

The fact that their oldest son was throwing snack foods at the reporter his two grandfather figures had just punched probably wasn’t the story that PR had been hoping to gain out of the press conference, but it sure as hell was the one they were going to end up with.

\---

By the time Sid managed to hobble his way over, Flower and Jordie had forcibly removed the reporter from the room and Evan seemed to be out of his hulk mode, holding his baby brother close and trying to hush his sniffles. He looked up at his fathers, dark brown eyes earnest and unapologetic.

“He made AJ _cry_.” Evan huffed, outraged that anyone that wasn’t him thought they had a right to mess with his baby brother.

“Da, and you protected him. You will always protect him.” Geno replied gently.

Evan’s determined nod earned a chorus affectionate cooing, but it seemed clear that their family had had enough of being in the spotlight.

“Let’s go home.” Sidney whispered, taking Geno’s hand and knotting their fingers together.

\---

The drive back was uneventful, the boys having dozed off after about five minutes on the road. Which left plenty of time for Sid and Geno to trade sweet nothings in Russian and English over the center console. The slow circles Geno’s thumb had been tracing on the back of Sid’s hand lulling him to sleep as well.

When Sid felt the familiar slope of the driveway he blinked his eyes open and noticed the pinched look on Geno’s face, a fire igniting in his previously calm eyes. 

“Geno, what is it?” 

Sidney sat up, expecting to see paparazzi scattered across their front yard.

Instead he saw a lone man sitting on their porch in jeans and an obnoxiously orange hoodie.

“Is that... _Giroux_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the lovely comments and kudos, they make my world go round. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I have a feeling that prequel will very quickly be coming to an end, and that the main story that has been rolling around in my head for ages will be making its debut shortly after.
> 
> This universe is giant and I'd love to have someone (or multiple someones) to bounce ideas off of, or simply talk to. So if you'd like to jump on my utterly insane bandwagon message me, leave a comment, or even find me on tumblr. 
> 
> http://torchedskyscrapers.tumblr.com/


	8. More to it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sidney really, _really_ , wants to leave Claude out in the cold.
> 
> Maybe he should have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOOO, I'm not dead :D

A growl, deep and near feral ripped from Geno’s throat. The suddenly enraged Russian yanked the keys from the ignition, tired eyes flaring with once dormant ire as he shoved open his door.

Sidney scrambled to undo his seatbelt, his bad shoulder pulling uncomfortably as he tried to free himself from the restraint. While his sons flinging snackfood at reporters was wasn’t an ideal headline, it was certainly better than one depicting the murder of Claude Giroux on his doorstep. Considering the circumstances it probably wasn’t too far fetched of an outcome. 

Hobbling along the side of the Range Rover as best he could with his banged up knee, Sid watched as Claude popped up to his feet and extend his hand in greeting, only to get knocked back on his ass by his husband’s solid right hook.

“You have nerve show up here,” Geno spat, followed by a string of very creative Russian obscenities as he hauled Claude up and back onto his feet like a rag doll. And from where Sidney was limping his way along the guy actually looked suitably cowed by the entire situation, face twisted into a pained grimace but making no move to strike back. 

“Geno, Geno for christ’s sake stop it!” Sidney pleaded, glancing around to make sure that none of their distant neighbors were poking out for a peek at the commotion. “You’re acting like a goon, and if we have to start going in for parent conference calls because Evan starts punching his classmates, you’re going alone.” He threatened, watching his husband weigh the pros and cons of landing another hit. 

With a reluctant scowl Geno grudgingly released the iron grip he’s had on the Claude, fixing Sidney with an extremely put upon stare. 

“Please Geno, the boys need to be put down for their naps and I…” Sidney gestured frustratedly at the arm sling and knee brace, the whiskey colored depths of his eyes pained and pleading. It was dirty pool to play on Geno’s concern, but Sidney wasn’t about to let him get arrested for assault when things were finally starting to ease out of crisis mode.

The brunette huffed, shooting Claude one last stink eye before marching back down the driveway. He pressed a kiss to Sidney’s temple, murmuring a quiet bit of affection into his ear that Sidney returned, before he went on to collect the boys from the car.

Trusting Geno to handle them, Sid made his way up to the porch where Claude was still standing in something of a daze. His face was a variety of blacks and blues, and decorated with the clear remnants of what had once been twin black eyes and a slowly oozing split lip, which Geno had effortlessly reopened.

Sighing quietly, Sid jimmied his key around the lock and stepped into the warmth of the house, motioning for Claude to follow. He was a true blooded Canadian afterall, he couldn’t just leave him on the stoop...even if he really, _really_ , wanted to. 

\---

Claude followed Sid in something of a daze, glancing over the house with slight interest. Toys and kid sized articles of clothing were scattered about, baby gates blocked off the halls, and there were soft foam blocks encasing every countertop or table edge. It looked like his own place in Philadelphia with Danny, where the boys left behind bits of themselves in the form of muddy shoe prints and discarded playthings. 

Sid was a dad.

Geno was a dad.

They were dads, as in plural, together, parenting two baby boys. The thought hadn’t sunk in for Claude until he was standing at the epicenter of it, shifting from foot to foot hesitantly in their kitchen.

It was all olive toned granite, dark wood, stainless steel, and forest green accents. There was a ridiculously classy looking high chair, children’s drawings and photos of friends and family attached to the double fridges with alphabet magnets, plus a collection of teapots and a full wine rack that looked terrifyingly breakable. 

Apparently all those rumors about Sidney still secretly residing in Lemieux's attic had been a bunch of bull. 

\---

“You’re staring.” Sidney bit out, wrapping two fistfuls of ice in a clean dish towel and handing it to Claude with a small scowl.

“And you’re actually human.” Claude replied, pressing the ice to his throbbing face and taking a seat in one of the chairs stationed at the end of the kitchen island. “You have a home, with real furniture and stuff.” He added, more than a little awed by the concept. There were still guys in the league who had bets going on whether or not Sid was a hockey robot built by the Canadian government.

“Yeah, I do. And it’s not that I don’t like disproving all those stupid tabloids, but would you mind telling me why you were camped out on our porch?” 

There was a defensive edge to Sid’s tone, his shoulders pulled forward in a braced position as he filled a teapot and set it on the stove to boil. 

Seeing him like that, so steadfastly guarded in his own home, it left Claude sick to his stomach with the guilt he’d been carrying around for weeks since the incident.  
Sucking a steadying breath between his teeth, he lowered his impromptu ice pack and glanced hesitantly at Sid’s turned back.

“I came to apologize, I never would have checked you like that if I’d known…” The thought trailed off, as Claude watched the muscles of Sid’s back ripple and tense beneath the fabric of his dress shirt. 

“So what would you have done huh, walked away, left me be? It’s part of the game Giroux, it was a legal hit.” Indignation burned in the hazel depths of Sid’s eyes as he shifted as quickly as his body would allow so that he could stare Claude down face to face. “I don’t need your apology, I don’t want it.” He growled, jaw set with that stubborn chisel that most players had learned to dread.

“I ruined your fucking life Crosby, I should probably apologize for it.” Claude shot back, frustration boiling in his blood.The other man’s refusals to just accept his efforts of atonement was plain aggravating

“I figured this was the best way to do it.”

Fishing around in the pocket of his hoodie, Claude dug out his wallet, producing a simple ring, thick and polished platinum, with an odd little twist in the metal. He heard the whistle of air as it punched it’s way out of Sidney’s lungs, his eyes trained so unwaveringly upon the ring that Claude half expected for it to burst into red hot flames from the intensity of his stare.

“You found it,” Sid whispered, extending his hand, palm up.

“Yeah, the hit must have rattled it loose.” Claude mumbled, pressing the cool bit of metal into Sid’s desperate grasp, watching him slide it back onto his finger with devoted reverence. He scratched sheepishly at the back of his neck, a little thrown by the look of complete and utter gratitude on Sid’s face.

“I not like I could have just kept it, not after throwing you under the bus like that…” 

Sidney huffed out an exasperated sigh, and Claude didn’t have to look up to know the other’s face had gone from eternally grateful to pinched with annoyance.

“Look, I still think you’re kind of a jackass, I’m grateful and all, but I mean you still wear orange. While I may blame you for other things, I don’t blame you for what happened that night--I can’t--so stop trying to make to make me damnit.” 

It was Sid’s captain voice, and Claude really couldn’t hold back his scoff.

“Toews seemed fine with blaming it on me, Kane and the rest of the Blackhawks too.”  


A small smirk pulled at Sidney’s lips and Claude had to find the restraint to not forcibly wipe it off his smug face.

“Yeah well he didn’t take too kindly to seeing his kid’s nap buddies sobbing on national television…” The sentence hung suspended in the growing silence between them, Sid seeming to have realized his mistake, his hazel eyes flitting in a panic toward the fridge.

It was next to a very well colored picture of some Disney princess that Claude couldn’t name, a photo of Toews and Kane in white t-shirts and dark wash jeans. Each of them had a toddler cradled in their arms, Toews a little blonde boy and Kane a little blonde girl, and in between them sat a slightly older little girl in a white cotton dress, her chocolate colored hair curled prettily. 

Claude felt like he’d been sucker punched, Toews’ words ringing in his ears.

_There’s more to it than you could ever imagine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're still reading this, I love you and sorry for the delay!


	9. We're going to reenact the Titanic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude is the man with the plan, and severe facial bruising.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't sleep -.- So if there are excessive typos, I apologize.
> 
> I know some of you guys wanted longer chapters, and I'm sorry that this one isn't, but I promise it is important-sorta.
> 
> And I can happily say that I've finally figured out a way to wrap this story up and move on to the main fic that I had in mind when I started all this. So updates should definitely be a bit more frequent!

“If you so much as breathe a _word_ about them,” Sid looked absolutely livid, though Claude had a feeling that his anger was directed at his own inability to keep a lid on it, more so than it was at him. 

As if sensing his husband’s distress, Claude felt more than he saw Geno lumber into the room. He pecked Sidney gently on the lips, wrapping his arms around the other man’s torso and hooking his chin over his uninjured shoulder with a wolfish grin.

“Giroux won’t out Toews and Kaner.” 

There was a level of matter-of-fact conviction in the Russian’s tone that made the hairs on the back of Claude’s neck stand on end. His stomach rolled with uncertainty, wary of whatever it was that Malkin thought was leverage enough for him to keep his mouth shut.

“If he does, Sasha out him and Briere.”

Claude felt himself pale at the mention of Danny, whipping his head up to glare accusingly at the smug looking Russian. 

“How the fuck does Ovechkin know about me and Danny?” He demanded, more than a little uneasy about the toothless jackass knowing anything about his family.

“Sasha knows everything, plus you not subtle.” Geno replied smoothly, his head tilted with sick amusement.

“He even know about Carter and Richards.” 

Claude wasn’t proud of it but he turned his gaze on Sidney, looking for some kind of reassurance. 

“That’s hitting a little below the belt, don’t you think? Me and Danny are one thing, but are you really going to threaten to drag Mike and Jeff through the mud too? They were your teammates.”

\---

Sid’s gaze was hard and unwavering when he met Claude’s eyes, he felt his blood run cold, suddenly fearful that Crosby wasn’t the golden boy the media had made him out to be.

“Before you lecture me about Jeff and Mike, you might want look at what your own club did to them.” Sidney hissed, making it clear just how far below the belt he was willing to swing.

“It’s hockey, trades happen.” The words left a bitter taste in Claude’s mouth, as they pushed their way through his gritted teeth. What had happened with Richie and Carts still haunted him, Danny even more so, but the hatchet had long been buried. The two of them had come away with the cup, you could't exactly pity them for that.

“Yeah and hits happen too.” Sidney shot back, looking vaguely satisfied when Claude cringed just the slightest bit in response. 

“We don’t want to out anybody, this…” He gestured around Geno and the house, encompassing what Claude guessed was their current situation. “We wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” The pain in his words, the sincerity, made Claude trust in them.

“But this no hockey, this life. Friends are priority, we protect own.” Geno’s easy grin had disappeared, replaced with an scowl so deathly serious that it made Claude wonder if hockey was really just an elaborate cover up for the Russian mafia. It would explain Ovechkin’s ability to find dirt on literally everyone in the league. 

“Think of it as an insurance policy.” Sid added, the word sparking an idea in the depths of Claude’s mind.

\---

It was crazy, even the thought of it made him question his sanity, but there wasn’t much of it left anyway--he was sitting in Sidney Crosby’s kitchen that was proof enough of his lapse in mental stability. But if he'd learned anything from hockey, it was that sometimes crazy was exactly what you needed.

“I still find you incredibly annoying and whiny, I will still take an immense amount of joy from chirping you and slamming you into the boards, and I will hate the Pens with every breath I take…”

Geno straightened, probably ready to drop kick Claude out of the house but he managed to wave him down.

“Still, you have to admit that we’re all in the same boat right? Gay professional hockey players with secret families.”

Sidney nodded, a look of faint intrigue in his eyes.

“What if we could all be one huge insurance policy, blanket coverage for everyone from Toews and Kane to Seguin and Benn, and everyone else.”

The two of them seemed to weigh the suggestion, Sidney twisting the ring on his finger nervously as he met Claude’s gaze.

“What exactly did you have in mind?”

Claude sat back, letting his eyes shift from Sid to linger on the fridges and all of the pictures on them.

“A shit ton of phone calls and a really good reporter.” He replied dryly, shooting the hesitant pair a sardonic smile.

“If we’re all in a sinking boat, we might as well go down together right?” 

There was a pregnant pause, but when Claude looked up he could see the determination in Sid's eyes.

"We may have that reporter bit covered." The brunette admitted, sharing a knowing glance with Geno.

"Pierre fucking McGuire doesn't count."

And ok, Claude was willing admit that he earned the second punch that Malkin threw his way, but at least they were on board with what would soon be a very crowded sinking ship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for such amazing reviews, you have no idea how much they mean to me <3


	10. There's this little town called Flin Flon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a tiny hotel in a small town in Manitoba, and it is about to witness history.

Flin Flon, Manitoba was nothing at all spectacular. To be frank it was quite the opposite, just a small little mining town with a one runway airport. But Patrick Burke didn’t really mind, he’d been waiting years for the call that had brought him there, years for an NHL player to take the first brick out of a terrifyingly large wall. While he’d never have guessed that Claude Giroux would be the man on the other end of the line, Burke was more than glad that it was.

Stuffed into an itty bitty rental car, he weaved his way from the airport, through town, and out to the Victoria Inn North. 

It was a box like three story building, dark gray with faded blue trim, and settled awkwardly on a hill. Despite the prison like appearance of the Victoria, the parking lot, a pool of asphalt that sloped upward with the natural incline, was nearly full. 

Squeezing in between two SUVs that dwarfed his tiny rental, Burke gathered his computer bag and suitcase, before making a beeline for the front doors. 

There was a well dressed, and slightly terrifying man behind the welcome counter. He was easily over six feet and cramped into a small rolling office chair that looked like it’d been around since the seventies.But his smile was genuine when he welcomed Burke, offering him some fresh baked chocolate chip cookies and a chilled bottle of water. 

“What name is your reservation under sir?” Giles, or at least that’s what his name tag read, inquired. His gaze flitting between Burke and a computer screen.

“I actually didn’t make one, this was something of a last minute arrangement.” Burke admitted sheepishly. “I’m looking for one of your guests, his name is Claude Giroux.” He explained, spelling out the others full name while Giles poked at the keyboard with his index fingers. 

“Patrick Burke?” Giles asked, finally triumphant in his chicken-peck typing.

“That’s me.” Burke replied, more than a little relieved.

“Mr. Giroux is currently out making lunch arrangements. He did however reserve a room for you and left a note asking you to join him the conference hall at two this afternoon.” Giles muttered, squinting at the screen and scribbling down a room number. He fished out a key and slid it over with the bright orange post-it note, pointing helpfully in the direction of the elevators.

\-----

The room was about what he expected, four walls with a bed,desk, couch, and minibar crammed within them. But the sheets smelled good, the bathroom was clean, and the AC unit was blessedly modern. That was all Burke really needed anyway.

Peeling out of his suit jacket and tie, he sat himself down at the desk and pulled out his laptop. He’d been writing down questions on napkins and old receipts his whole way over, but it seemed a smidge more professional to type them out.

Each minute ticked by slowly, the pitter patter of childrens feet and giggling occasionally sweeping up and down the outside hall. All Burke could do was sit and wait, idly poking around youtube and twitter in an attempt to kill some time. At about fifteen till he couldn’t take the quiet of his room any longer and packed up his computer, ambling out into the hall where he was nearly mowed down by a little boy and a little girl, neither of which could have been older than six or seven. 

“Sorry!” They shouted in unison before disappearing around the corner in the direction of the stairwell. 

While Burke jabbed impatiently at the elevator button he couldn’t help the feeling of distant recognition. Something about the boy in particular seemed eerily familiar. Shrugging it off he stepped into the rickety contraption and prayed the whole way down that it wouldn’t get jammed.

\-----

Giles was kind enough to point the way to the conference room, and Burke was pleasantly surprised to find Claude waiting for him just outside the double doors.

“Claude,” he beamed, offering the man a hand to shake. 

“Mr. Burke.” Claude returned, grasping at Burke’s hand with a slightly crushing grip, his lips pressed into a tight smile. “Thank you for coming all this way.” He added, tucking his hands into his pockets with a sense of obvious unease..

“It was my pleasure Claude, this is a big step for you, for the entire sport.” Burke reasoned, giving the man’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“You honestly have no idea.” Claude mumbled, throwing a tentative glance over his shoulder in the direction of the conference room. 

Frowning, Burke took a hesitant step back. “Claude if this isn’t something that you’re ready for…” He trailed off, giving the man an obvious out. After all that had happened with Sidney and Geno, the last thing that Burke wanted to do was pressure another man out into the frothing maw of the media. 

“It isn’t that at all.” Claude huffed, still looking mildly conflicted. “It’s just that this is going to be more than a step Mr. Burke, we’re going to turn the whole league on its head.” He explained, one hand on the doorknob. 

“ _We’re_ as in _plural_?” 

Burke asked, his eyebrows shooting up almost to his hairline. 

Claude nodded, a small smirk twisting on his lips.

\-----

He pulled open the doors and ushered Burke inside, what he saw punched the breath out of his lungs.

Round tables, adorned with thin white tablecloths were spread out wall to wall. Each and every single one was brimming with NHL players and children, both of which were chatting animatedly over pizza and lemonade.

At first glance Burke counted fourteen players in total, but he had to recheck because the site of Patrick Kane holding a toddler in his lap while Jonathan Toews cleaned applesauce off of her face did wonders to derail his thought process. 

Once he had the headspace to get a relatively accurate count his original count had roughly doubled. Little more than four percent of the entire NHL was sitting in front of him.

\-----

“All of you?” Burke breathed in disbelief.

“All of us.” Danny Briere affirmed, sidling up to Claude’s side, the little boy that Burke had seen running through the halls clutching at his hand. 

“You weren’t kidding when you said that you were going to turn the league on its head.” Burke muttered, gazing around in awe. 

He was going to need more questions, he was going to need more reporters, hell he was probably going to need to postpone his flight home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Claude Giroux did basically hunt down every couple in the NHL and drag them and their children out to a small town in Manitoba during the off season. They invaded a hotel completely under the radar and are essentially holding a mass coming out via Patrick Burke who basically gets Christmas in July. Feel free to judge my madness. 
> 
> To everyone who has stuck by this story, your comments and kudos mean the world to me. While there are only two chapters left I promise you that this universe is only just getting started. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this teeny tiny chapter, and thanks for reading :D


	11. If We Can Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Easing his laptop shut, Burke set it aside and climbed into bed, not even trying to pretend that he hadn’t shed a tear or two watching years of his work come together in one flawless video.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several RL trades and marriages were ignored in the writing of the chapter.

Burke sat in his hotel room, his tie undone and splattered with finger paint. He had his socked feet propped up on the bed, his computer settled on his lap as he turned gently to the left and right. 

Outside the hall was quiet, darkness sitting heavy beyond the curtains of his window as the clock ticked toward two in the morning. 

Lullabies had been sung, bedtime stories told, both in a variety of languages. The squat little hotel at the edge of Flin Flon Manitoba had fallen still at last, her occupants fast asleep and only vaguely aware that when they woke it would be in a completely different world.

Without hesitation, a small smile of contentedness on his lips, he double clicked the upload button and watched the little progress bar work its way toward completion. 

There was a little chime to let him know the action had been successful, and it was quite possibly the most satisfying sound he’d ever heard.

Running his cursor over the play button, he couldn’t really stop himself. He wanted to be the first person that saw it, the video that wasn’t just one brick out of a wall, but more than half of the wall in its entirety. 

It started in black and white…

\-----

The opening scene was of blades cutting down an unbroken plain of ice, the roar of an unseen crowd playing as white noise in the background.

It cut away to a clip of Claude Giroux, staring straight ahead at the camera, lips tilted up in something of a smirk.

“My name is Claude Giroux…”

My name is: _Daniel Briere, Jeff Carter, Michael Richards, Eddie Lack, Roberto Luongo, Pernell Karl Subban, Carey Price, Jeff Skinner, Eric Staal, Ryan Kesler, Alexandre Burrows, Jordan Eberle, Taylor Hall, Matthew Duchene, Gabriel Landeskog, Jamie Benn, Tyler Seguin, Michael Green, Nicklas Backstrom, Bradley Richards, Vincent Lecavalier, Logan Couture, James McGinn, Patrice Bergeron, Andrew Ference, Nathan MacKinnon, Jonathan Drouin, Patrick Kane, Jonathan Toews, Sidney Crosby, Evgeni Malkin._

Each of their faces flashed up in time with their simple introduction, all thirty-two of them.

**“I’ve hoisted the Stanley cup…”  
**

**“I am an Olympian…”**

**“I earned the C on my sweater…”**

**“I’ve hoisted the cup twice…”**

**“I own two Olympic golds…”**

**“I scored the Stanley Cup winning goal in 2010…”**

**“I am a World Champion…”**

**“I've won the Norris trophy…”**

**“I’ve won the Calder Cup…”**

**“I win Art Ross, twice…”**

**“I brought hockey back to a dying club…”**

**“ I was the first goaltender to be named a captain in 59 years…”**

**“I am a Stanley Cup champion…”**

**“I’ve earned the Mark Messier…”**

**“I’ve won the Hart Memorial…”**

**“I scored the golden goal…”**  


They each listed off an accomplishment, looking every bit as proud as they should have, their eyes lighting up at the memory of each triumph.

Video clips of the highlights followed each little bit of dialogue, flashes of color between the black and white frames. 

When the shot of the golden goal faded back into black, the man who scored it came back into focus, his arm still in a sling but head held high. 

“If you’ve ever felt out of place in a locker room, if you’ve ever struggled with the stereotypes that separate the sport you love and your sexuality, if you’ve ever been the target of homophobia...rest assured that you are not alone.” His hazel eyes, made a sharp gray by the color change, held steady as the words formed on his lips.  


“Your sexuality does not hinder your ability to play, it does not lessen the amount you can contribute to your team, it is not something for which you should be harassed or abused…” 

Sidney held up his left hand, his platinum wedding band now neighbored by his Stanley Cup ring. 

“I’m Sidney Crosby, and if my _husband_ and I can play, _you_ can play.” 

When the video finally cycled back to Claude he wasn’t alone in his shot, as he had been in the two previous scenes in which he had appeared. Instead, Danny was at his side, their fingers intertwined just within view of the panned out camera shot. 

“If _we_ can play…” Claude began, glancing over at Danny with a smile sweet enough to rot teeth.

“ _You_ can play.” Danny finished, pointing at the camera for emphasis. 

All of the individuals that had been alone in their previous shots were suddenly condensed into couples as the mantra continued with varied displays of wedding bands and hand holding.

If _we_ can play, _you_ can play.

Finally in the closing scene, color burst to life in the predominantly black and white ad.

Children, the eldest holding the hands of their younger siblings and friends all smiling up at the camera with gap tooth grins, rosy cheeks, and unruly hair. 

“If our dads can play, _you_ can play.” They singsonged, those who weren’t quite old enough to speak babbling and giggling along as if they could. 

After a moment the scene devolved into beaming parents rushing the impromptu set and scooping up their kids in a display of fatherly affection that had originally been a bloober, one that Burke felt was too cute to not include.

When the screen had faded all to black, a simple white sentence came into focus.

**If they can play, you can play.**

\-----

It was nearly ten minutes from start to finish, the longest AD that he’d ever put together, and undoubtedly the best.

Easing his laptop shut, Burke set it aside and climbed into bed, not even trying to pretend that he hadn’t shed a tear or two watching years of his work come together in one flawless video. 

When he woke five hours later, it had already gone viral, his phone at its capacity for voicemails and texts. 

It was a great feeling, snuggling back into the hotel sheets and sleeping in for the first time in years, put at ease by the knowledge that they had indeed turned the NHL on its head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really know how to go about writing this chapter. 
> 
> I knew I wanted to incorporate the 'You Can Play' project, but I wasn't sure about how to describe the ad that I was picturing in my head without actually filming it. Hopefully I managed well enough to convey the weight of the video, and it's message. The idea for the black and white, and alternating voice/face clips came from the 'You Can Play' video entitled 'The Faceoff' and you can watch it on YouTube. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, there's just one more chapter to go, and if you're still here--thank you, I love you, and my god this is only the prequel.


	12. Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's changed, but hopefully it's for the better.

After a week and a half of holing up in Flin Flon, Sidney was sure that everyone was going a bit stir crazy. Not to mention the local minimart was quickly running out of diapers and Captain Crunch with the added strain of supporting thirty full grown hockey players and their small herd of children.

Those without kiddos were the first to take off, most for low key vacation sights or marital duties. Eric and Jeff were headed for some down time in the Caribbean, Hall and Ebs had plans to meet up with Nugent-Hopkins and go on some crazy road trip, Couture and McGinn had a standing date to go house hunting, and Richards and Lecavalier were finally looking into adoption paperwork, just to name a few.

The hot dad club lingered around a bit longer, lining up trips to Disney World or the Wizarding World of Harry Potter, a little thrown by the novelty of getting to plan a vacation in which they could freely be seen with their children and husband.

Little Flin Flon had done them well, far enough off grid that there hadn’t been any snooping reporters after the media meltdown, allowing them an unprecedented amount of privacy. Still, it was probably a well deserved sigh of relief for the tight lipped town when the players started to disperse. Slowly but steadily they all moved on, and by the end of the second week there were only three families still camped out in the Victoria.

 

\-----

Sid woke on a rather overcast Monday morning to the sound of a slamming trunk, and a litany of French swearing. When he shuffled over to his window he was met by the sight of a particularly frustrated Claude Giroux wrestling with one of the three car seats lined up inside the his SUV. 

His absence from the bed must have roused his partner. Geno’s head lifting lazily off the hotel pillow, his hair sticking up on one side and flattened on the other as he glanced around in confusion. “Sid?” He mumbled, patting down the patch of warmth that Sidney had left behind, like he was concerned that the bed had somehow swallowed his husband.

“Shhh, it’s still early.” Sid hushed, giving Geno’s ankle a gentle squeeze as he slipped into a pair of crocs and snatched a room key from the bedside table. “Go back to sleep.” He whispered, earning a grunt of vague understanding from the lump of tangled sheets that the Russian had disappeared into.

He glanced over at the boys, Evan and AJ snuggled up in the opposite bed. His oldest with his mouth agape and drooling on his brother’s arm, the youngest with his thumb stuck firmly in his mouth and starfished out over his brother like a tiny human blanket. The sight put a smile on his face as he silently slipped out into the hall.

 

\-----

It didn’t take him long to make his way out to the nearly vacant parking lot, passing Danny on his way out as the man was picking through the provided breakfast bar for any potential road snacks.

Claude was exactly where he had been when Sid had looked out the window, his rear end sticking out of the SUV while he fought with car seat restraints as an unamused six year old wrapped his small fists in the man’s curls and yanked on them in an attempt to save his own life.

Shoving his hands in his pocket, Sid shifted his weight to one side and watched with mild amusement for a moment, barely able to hold back his chuckles. It was the shifting of gravel underneath his sunny yellow crocs that alerted Claude to his presence. The man’s shoulders tensed for a moment, before slumping in defeat.

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to help me?” Claude finally growled, shooting a rather unimpressed glance over his shoulder.

Sid shrugged in response, ambling over to inspect the knot the Giroux had his kid tangled up in, unable to contain a snort of laughter when he realized just how badly the other man had done.

“Let me guess, Danny did those two…” Sid motioned to the youngest boys who were already securely fastened and staring over the rims of their sippy cups with wide and judging eyes.

“Caelan is supposed to be the easy one, he’s the oldest, his seat is supposed to be the easiest to buckle in.” Claude groaned, throwing up his hands and making room for Sid to intervene.

“It actually wouldn’t have been all that complicated...except you crossed this strap, and put that one in backwards.” Sid explained with a poorly controlled amount of mirth, taking great satisfaction in freeing the kid from the mess and buckling him back in with quick, sure motions.

When he glanced up Caelan was staring back at him, eyes wide and just a little awed. Then his gaze drifted over Sid’s shoulder to Claude. “I’m so telling dad that _Sidney Crosby_ had to buckle me in ‘cause you couldn’t.” He pointed an accusatory finger in the other man’s direction, and Sid had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep the giggle honk in check.

“I will withhold grilled cheese for a month.” Claude deadpanned, shutting the boy right up.

Backing up a few paces, Sid arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “Would you really?” He asked, mildly intrigued by Claude and his supposedly legendary grilled cheese.

The Flyer rolled his eyes so hard Sidney worried he might actually break something important in his otherwise empty head, but when the dark orbs settled back into their rightful position it was only mild annoyance in their depths, and not the usual spark of loathing.

“Of course not, we’d fucking starve.” Claude muttered, too low for the boys to hear.

“Right.” Sid replied dryly, putting a few feet between them, and looking the other man up and down with a developing look of emotional constipation. Shoving his hands back into his pockets and shifting his weight from foot to foot, he watched Claude’s pinched expression of frustration melt into dread.

“Thank you-” Sid started, only to be cut off by a quick wave of Claude’s hand.

“Don’t thank me Crosby, just don’t. I didn’t do it for you, I did it for them.” Claude motioned to the SUV, and his kids inside of it, hurriedly putting an end to what could have been a _moment_ between them.

Sidney knew it was the truth, a partial truth, because Claude would never admit to actually being genuinely nice to him of all people. For once he wasn’t going to call the other man on his twist of words, this was something they could both let lie.

“It’ll be a better sport for them, hopefully.” Sid agreed, sparing the Briere boys one last look.

“Hopefully.” Claude echoed, climbing into the passenger seat with the window rolled down and Danny quickly approaching with his breakfast food haul.

Danny rolled his eyes at his husband’s clippe small talk, slapped Sid goodnaturedly on the back and hopped in on the driver’s side with a friendly ‘goodbye’ tossed out behind him. As the tires kicked up dirt and backed out of the parking lines painted on the asphalt, Claude stuck his head out the window and shouted out,“I’m still going to kick your ass on the ice Crosby.”

“Not if I kick yours first.” Sid shot back, waving as Danny steered the SUV out of the parking lot and drove down the road and out of sight, Claude’s middle finger thrust out the window and aimed at him the whole way.

When he finally turned around to go back inside, Jonny was standing at the front entrance of the hotel, sipping a cup of coffee and looking wholly unimpressed with the existence of mornings.

 

\-----

“Giroux finally left?”

Sid hummed a quiet agreement, flipping a page of the paper, settled into an over fluffed armchair in the Victoria’s breakfast nook.

Jonny was sitting opposite of him, squinty eyed but slowly coming into the realm of the living with the help of his third cup of coffee.

“We should get going too…” Sid mumbled absently, skimming down the sports page and glancing over the massive amount of media coverage that was still aimed at the thirty-two players who’d come to Flin Flon two weeks earlier.

“Pittsburgh is gonna be a madhouse.” Jonny observed, jabbing his finger at the picture of Mario waving off paparazzi with a smug smile.

“Chicago won’t be any better, you and Kaner are probably the talk of the town.” Sid reasoned, skimming over the caption beneath the photo of Mario, thoroughly impressed by his second father’s level of pure and blatant sass.

“We’re not going back to Chicago, or Buffalo, or Winnipeg...not for the rest of the summer at least.”

Setting the paper down, Sid leveled Jonny with an incredulous stare. “So where are you going, Kaner going to drag you out to Biel or something?”

Jonny shook his head and slurped down the last of his coffee, finally looking somewhat alert.

“Got a cabin up at the lake, we’re gonna take the kids out there for the summer, good ole family bonding and all that.” He explained, pulling up a picture of said [cabin](http://tour.getmytour.com/public/vtour/display/4863?idx=1) on his iphone and sliding it over the table for Sid to see.

It was a great looking place, huge as far as cabins went, lakefront, and surrounded by a nice thatch of trees.

“Which lake?” Sid asked, zooming in on the photo for a better look.

“Toews, Lake Toews.” Jonny deadpanned.

“You rented a cabin, on lake _you_?”[  
](http://tour.getmytour.com/public/vtour/display/4863?idx=1)

“Built, we built a cabin on lake me.” Jonny corrected, explaining the luxury look of the place. But the exasperated pinch between his eyebrows was clear indication that he’d endured more than enough comments about taking up residence on lake him from Kaner, and probably both of their families and teammates.

“Place looks good, sounds like fun.” Sidney conceded, wondering if he could find a place to rent out with the summer season already in swing. Spending the off season lakeside, on private and thus paparazzi free land sounded like heaven on earth.

“You and Geno could always come with. We’ve got plenty of room, and the kids would really get a kick out of it.” Jonny offered, a slight note of pleading in his voice.

“I don’t know Jon, it’s supposed to be ‘family’ time remember?”

“Oh for the love of god Sid, don’t make me beg. I already have three children, Kaner counts a fourth, and I don’t think I can survive this summer without having at least one other _responsible_ adult to go fishing with and complain to.” Jonny whined, throwing his head back and staring pitifully at the ceiling.

“Alright, alright we’ll come with.”

Sid smiled as Jonny’s shoulders slumped with relief, a little bit of the crazy in his eyes ebbing away.

“When should we leave?” Sid mused, picking the paper back up.

“Pat’s been packed for the past three days, but I refused to leave before I managed to convince you to come a long.” Jonny admitted, getting to his feet and throwing his arms out in a quick stretch, muscles pulling taut under his battered Hawks t-shirt.

Sid glanced up, brow furrowed. “Why do I suddenly feel like I’m going to regret this?” He asked, following Jonny to the elevators where they punched in the numbers of their respective floors.

“Because you probably are.” Jonny answered, the sincerity behind the words making Sid’s palms sweat. When the doors dinged open on Jonny’s floor, Kaner was waiting on the other side. He was perched on his suitcase with Geno beside him and the kids sitting cross legged at his feet.

“Sid, we go with Kane to cabin da? I already pack bags.” There was a puppy like light in Geno’s big round eyes, the wanting in them so deep that Sid couldn’t possibly back out. And he had already packed the bags…

“Please Daddy.” AJ, stared up at him with his big doe eyes, Nathanial standing beside him with his little hands pressed together. “Please Uncle Sid.” The little blonde toddler begged, lip jutting out in what literally had to be a picture perfect pout.

“Da.” Sidney agreed, trying not to sound too terrified when his husband highfived Kaner and his sons let out little whoops of conspiratory joy.

It was going to be a long summer...

 

\-----

Sidney was stretched out on a lounge chair, soaking in the sun and watching Geno splash around in the lake with the kids. Jonny was stretched out beside him, flipping idly through some French magazine, his gaze flitting up occasionally to watch Kaner throw himself off the rope swing.

Their families’ squeals of delight and booming laughter carried all the way over to the dock, carried on a sticky summer breeze, along with the faint smell of a distant barbeque.

“What sounds good for dinner?” Jon brought his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and shifted onto his side to glance at Sid.

“I’ll grill some chicken, you and Geno can throw together a salad.” Sid replied, rocking upward into a sitting position just in time to see Patrick toss Evan up into the air and catch him just before he hit the water. Geno had Isabel on his shoulders and Sophia in his arms. AJ and Nate were floating around contentedly with their water wings, splashing at one another. He’d never felt so at ease, so unwaveringly content.

No matter what angle he looked at it from, the place was paradise, pure and untouched.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have stuck with me to the very end, thank you so much. Your comments and kudos drove this story forward and I wouldn't have made it without you. I hope you enjoyed the last chapter, and fret not there is plenty more to come, especially involving the kiddos. Thank you again for reading through my madness.
> 
> Fun Fact: Flin Flon Manitoba is a real place and is actually about 60 miles south of Lake Toews.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [From a thousand different angles. [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912166) by [clutteredrainbow (missingpride1913)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingpride1913/pseuds/clutteredrainbow)




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